The Passing Storm(78)

“Rae, slow down.” He nudged the cup toward her lips. “Drink.”

She was becoming overwrought. It was another aspect of her personality he’d never before witnessed. It occurred to Griffin that his expectations were framed around the Rae he’d known in high school. An illusion. The seventeen-year-old girl he’d known had matured into the woman seated beside him. This version—the true version of Rae—was a woman who’d lost her daughter only months ago and now feared a heartbreaking accident was something more.

No wonder she’d assumed the worst from Quinn’s story.

Griffin said, “Quinn was hanging around outside the Thomersons’ hoping to see Lark?”

“But not for the reasons you think. They were just friends. He went over to lend moral support even though he knew he probably wouldn’t see her.”

“Support via text message. Sounds like a typical kid’s behavior.”

“It is.” Rae took another sip of tea, set the mug down. When she turned slightly, their knees almost touched. “Quinn’s parents get drunk just about every night. Whether they stay home, or come back from the bars drunk, they fight. And I mean, knock-down-drag-outs.”

“They’ve been doing that for as long as they’ve known each other.” Griffin recalled the many times his mother had tried to intercede in the Galeckis’ wretched lives. He suddenly understood what Rae meant. “Was Quinn also hanging around Thomersons’ to avoid going home because of the fighting?”

“Probably. At least he’d learned how to avoid being collateral damage.”

“How?”

“From Lark. She came up with a plan to keep him safe,” Rae said, clearly taking pride in her daughter’s ingenuity. “She’d sneak him into her bedroom whenever Mik and Penny were out of control. Have him stay until the coast was clear. Then he’d drive home around midnight. By then, his parents were too drunk to drag him into one of their battles. They thought he was in his bedroom the whole time.”

“He’d lock the door and leave music playing?” Griffin had used that ploy a few times himself in high school.

Rae nodded. “Then he’d climb out his bedroom window. Good thing he and my daughter both had bedrooms on the ground floor. Lark’s strategic planning would’ve been harder to pull off if either of them lived in a two-story home.”

“You didn’t know about any of this?”

“Not a clue. Anyway, I’m sure Quinn was texting Lark from outside Thomersons’. Earlier that night, she’d told me she didn’t want to go to the slumber party. A change of heart.”

“Because of her falling-out with one of the other girls.” Only a theory, but Griffin knew Rae was convinced of its veracity.

“Right. Once she’d gone to Stella’s house, Quinn probably hoped she’d change her mind. Call me to pick her up. Then he’d have somewhere safe to stay until midnight.” A faint tremor went across Rae’s shoulders. “Pacing outside the brick wall, Quinn heard everything. He’s sure he heard two girls arguing.”

“Thanks. I’m clear on everything now.”

“You’ll talk to your niece?”

“Absolutely. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Rae, do you mind if I share this with my sister? Sally will want to know what I’m discussing with Jackie.” He grimaced. “Lately I haven’t been on the best terms with my sister. Bringing her in on this will smooth the way.”

“It’s fine. In fact, why not ask Sally to join you? It’ll make the conversation easier for Jackie, having her mother there.”

“I’m sure it will.” Hesitating, Griffin chose his next words carefully. “There is one thing. Before you get too far out on a limb with conjecture, I want you to keep Occam’s razor in mind.”

“What’s that?”

“The simplest explanation is more likely the right one. Which is . . . ?”

With visible relief, she blew out a breath. “My daughter slipped and fell.”

“Right. No one pushed her.”

“What about Quinn’s version of the events? He’s not making it up.”

“I’m sure he’s telling the truth,” Griffin agreed, his tone soothing. He was calling into play all his verbal powers of persuasion to calm Rae, because he couldn’t embrace her. He couldn’t offer physical comfort. “Rae, here’s what I believe happened. Lark and one of the girls were arguing about something.”

“About you,” she cut in, faintly chagrined and insistent, all in the same moment.

“Sure, that’s possible. But it could’ve been something else. A remark one of them made at school that embarrassed the other. A boy they both had a crush on. Whatever it was, Quinn overheard the debate. Then the other girl went back into the house. Perhaps Lark was about to follow her inside and slipped. Or she began pacing—”

“And then slipped.” Rae covered her face with her hands.

She looked broken.

Pain lanced Griffin, sure and swift. “Either way, there was nothing sinister at play.”

“It was an accident.”

“That never should’ve happened. Rae, I’m so sorry that it did.”

He rested his hand on her curved spine. But only for a moment. Touching her brought a different sort of distress.